


Cut to the Bone

by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash



Series: Segmented (A Collection of Spideychelle One-shots) [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 03:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15258285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash/pseuds/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: When a mission goes bad, an injured Peter finds himself relying on MJ in a way he hasn't before.





	Cut to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a collection of one-shots that were requested of me from a prompt list on my Tumblr. If you are interested in adding to them from the list or requesting writing from me in general, hop on over to @you-guys--are-losers on Tumblr.com. :)
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Prompt: "Is that blood?"
> 
> "No?"
> 
> "That's not a question you answer with another question."

On nights like these, Peter hated being alone.

Of course, he couldn’t expect MJ and Ned to be around with him all the time, especially on the nights when he was out being Spider-Man. They had homework and things to do. But even though he didn’t take them for granted, most of the time there was at least one of them available to be the “guy in the chair.”

Mostly, that meant that one of the two donned Ned’s wireless headset and used a laptop to monitor Peter’s tracker. Ned or MJ, depending on who was there, would also find new incidents for Peter to respond to in Queens. For the first few months, MJ had expressed no interest in doing that. She made it clear that she preferred to sit and watch, entertaining herself with a book and a few sarcastic comments. Her voice was welcome in the middle of a battle as a motivator, but other than that, for months Peter had not thought that she really wanted to contribute to their missions.

That had all been proved wrong when a massive robbery was reported while Ned was out grabbing dinner.

Peter had been anticipating the need to go in blind. When the dry voice of his other best friend came in over his suit’s comm, Peter had almost fallen off of the skyscraper he had been perched upon. However, there had not been much time to question MJ’s competency, since she had blown the question out of the water by hacking into the police radio to tell him where to go. The mission had gone as successfully as any of Peter’s and Ned’s, and so MJ and Ned began to switch off as “the guy in the chair.” Peter liked their company on missions; it made the cold nights not so cold, and the bruises not so sore.

But on Friday nights, Peter was always alone. For Ned’s birthday, May had purchased two slots in a cooking class for him and for Peter both to take, but of course, both knew that Peter couldn’t commit to something like that one one of the most crime-heavy nights of the week. When they had been discussing what Ned would do with the second ticket on a mission night, MJ had offered to take the class with him, and it had become an activity they both seemed to enjoy.

Peter was glad the MJ and Ned had something to bond over, and watching them grow closer was encouraging. The lunches they brought to school became fancier and fancier, which was a miracle since MJ had not brought anything more than a bag of crackers for years. They shared food and swapped quite often, tasting and critiquing each other’s food competitively. Ned was surprisingly good behind the chopping board, or so Peter was told-- he wasn’t exactly the best critic. Peter was more the type to just moan in happiness and take more food without asking questions. Sometimes he wished he could join them, but he knew deep down that it was good for Ned to have someone else. That way, if a mission ever went horribly wrong one night, Ned wouldn’t be alone. There would be someone to guide him through the grief, to remind him that it wasn’t his fault and that Peter hadn’t been alone. As long as missions didn’t go bad on Cooking Class Fridays, Peter would be fine.

Which was why, of course, fate had decided to find Peter Parker stranded alone in Queens with blood pouring from his side. On a Friday night.

“Peter, your vitals are lowering to dangerous levels,” Karen’s calming voice said on the edge of his consciousness. “Calling Tony Stark-”

“No!” The cry tore from his cracked lips, guttural and desperate. Peter’s head was spinning, and he could feel only a dull ache from his right side, where a blade was protruding from the red of his suit. “No. D-don’t call Mr…. Mr. Stark.” The shock caused his head to swim, but right now he was grateful for it. It meant that he wasn’t collapsing yet, it meant he still had a chance to get out of this. “Give me directions to 6855 Woodhaven Boulevard.”

“Are you sure, Peter? Isn’t that-”

“Karen, please,” he repeated, but his voice cracked as his eyes stung with pain. “I need to go to 6855 Woodhaven Boulevard.”

For a moment, Karen was silent, and then a map of the city burst up on the edge of his vision. It was pretty, the shock pointed out to Peter. All the shiny lights, and then that one, bright red dot… No, Peter forced himself. He took a breath and launched into the air, shooting a web at a massive lamppost.

Immediately, all shock was driven away by the pain.

The jolt of agony that went through Peter’s left side was enough to tear a groan of pain from Peter’s lips. Every movement of his abdomen only intensified the pain, and the blood that welled up around the blade came faster. No, he thought desperately. He had to keep going because right now, the blade was all that was keeping him from bleeding out. His enhanced regeneration would handle the internal damage, but it would take a few hours, and it needed to be monitored. Peter couldn’t exactly do that if he was unconscious.

Every swing, every shift of weight from one limb to the other caused Peter more pain. He held onto it-- the pain was all that was keeping him conscious right now. He could taste bile at the back of his throat, and a thin trail of blood slid down his face from his cracked lip. HIs muscles were shaking as dark spots danced on the edge of his vision, but no… He had to keep going, he was almost there.

The world around him darkened slightly as Peter swung into the quiet neighborhood. The lamp posts were fewer and farther between, and there were no more cars whizzing below. Everyone was asleep, and that was exactly the way Peter needed them to stay. Silently, Peter whizzed through the air until his eyes locked on the building he had been looking for. It was a house, three stories tall and compact the way all city houses were. Still, by the city’s standards, this house was a nice one. In the night, the white stone trim called out to Peter like a beacon.

He easily leaped to the top of the house, but as soon as he landed there, his muscles screamed so loudly in relief that he almost relaxed them entirely. It took a moment for Peter to regain his balance. When he finally did, he crept along the top of the house to a familiar skylight. He took a breath and knocked quietly on it, ignoring the blood that was smeared across it when he pulled his hand away. He needed to hold on just a little longer…

For a horrible, gut-wrenching moment, nothing happened. Please be here, Peter willed. Please. Through the glass, Peter could see the darkness of the room below. The skylight gave him a good view of a wooden floor, clear of the rubbish and dirty clothing that cluttered his bedroom floor. There was a desk of metal and white plastic on one side of the room, and on top of it was a massive stack of classics. The books were piled so precariously that Peter anticipated they would fall any moment, but by some miracle, they did not fall over when his knocks rattled the skylight. The walls of the room were a pale gray and plastered with an odd mix of various calendars, taped up photographs and polaroids, and sketches torn from notebooks.

His eyes locked on a polaroid on the wall across from the skylight, one that pictured Peter and Ned. They were both slumped on Peter’s sofa, tangled in odd sleeping positions. Ned’s fedora was tipped over his face, and Peter was asleep cradling the TV remote to his chest. The camera was clearly being held by MJ, who was gesturing to the pair of them with an exasperation on her face that Peter knew was her own sort of affection.

What if there were never any more polaroids on that wall again after tonight?

Peter had nearly given up. He was about to slump over when he saw movement through the skylight, and then it cracked open. Relief, pure and potent, washed over Peter as he crawled through the skylight, careful not to press the knife any further into his body. He landed on his feet on the wooden floor, careful to land lightly. As it was, the pile of books on the desk was wobbling anyway when Peter looked up, pulling off his mask.

A sleepy, irritable MJ was glaring at him, wearing a black tank top and flannel pajama pants. Her hair was loose of its ponytail for once, and the messy curls framed her face in a way that Peter thought made her look like an angel. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she rasped in a sleepy voice, “Parker, you better have a good reason or else-”

Her voice stopped dead in her throat as the dark eyes traveled down to his torso. Peter watched as he eyes flashed with a mixture of horror, panic, and surprise. The expression was enough to twist Peter’s gut painfully. “Is that blood?”

Peter tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat was too painful, and he ended up wincing. “No?” he attempted to say, but his voice was tight and constricted with pain.

Her eyes narrowed, and Peter felt a slight bit of relief flood him. His response had accomplished what he had hoped. When Michelle Jones was angry, she was an unstoppable force. If she was angry, she could save him, he knew it. “That isn’t a question you answer with another question, dammit, Parker!” she burst in a hushed whisper. “Why the fuck didn’t you go to Stark?”

“Too… Far,” Peter panted. “He- he’s upstate, n-now-”

“Stop talking,” MJ ordered, and then she was stepping so close to Peter that he could smell the lavender oil that she used to try to sleep. He wasn’t supposed to know, but Peter had noticed for a while that MJ did not really sleep when she had sleepovers with Peter and Ned. She did, however, always put the oil on before they all went to bed, and Peter could tell she was trying to sleep.

He took a deep breath of the lavender as his legs began to give out. Through thick lips heavy with delirium, he mumbled, “You smell… Amazing.” He began to slump over, and an alarmed MJ gripped his side.

“You absolute moron,” she groaned, sliding under his arm to bear his weight. Peter found himself leaning heavily on MJ as her curls tickled his cheek. “Okay… Okay. Come here.” She began to walk, and Peter stumbled along with her. The room was swimming, and it was not until Peter felt the springs of a mattress below him that he realized he was in her bed.

“I’m gonna g-get… Blood on it,” he exhaled through gritted teeth. The pain was back, and for a moment he was a bit more lucid.

“I don’t give a damn, Parker,” she mumbled as she leaned over him. Her hair was falling in his face now, and Peter couldn’t help but smile dazedly as a few strands brushed his nose. His hand reached up to touch it, and MJ immediately slapped it away. “Stop moving,” she ordered, but there was no malice in her tone. Peter knew that, even though she appeared angry, she was just concentrating.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. MJ ignored him for a moment as she pressed the button on his suit that caused it to loosen. She managed to slide the hilt of the knife through the hole in the fabric around it, and then she was peeling the suit away from his body to expose his bare, bloody chest. She swore again as she paused, running a hand through her hair.

“Don’t say that. I know you’re not in your right mind,” she murmured absently as she examined the hilt. “This is worse than I thought.”

“I’m not sorry about the… Hair... “ he murmured, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as a soft moan escaped him. “About coming here… I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop apologizing!” she demanded, and for a moment, there was a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. Peter opened his eyes again to be met with her own wide ones. When his panicked gaze met hers, she swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she finally sighed, returning to her position over his chest. “I just… I need to focus, and this looks bad.”

Peter swallowed, and fear washed over him. “I don’t wanna die, MJ,” he whispered, hating the weakness of his voice.

Her eyes flashed, and one of her hands brushed his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Peter was shocked; he never had seen her do anything like that before. “And you’re not going to,” she replied, determined. MJ glanced over her shoulder and rushed to her chest of drawers. A moment later, she returned with a black bath towel in her hand. “Okay… I’m going to take the blade out, alright?” she informed him.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he began to shake his throbbing head. “N-no!” he burst. “No, you can’t-”

“Peter,” MJ interrupted in a voice that was firm but understanding. As she looked down at him with those brown eyes, he saw a calm determination that cooled his stinging fear. “Your enhanced regeneration means that it should repair itself, remember? As long as I’m here and I maintain pressure, it will be okay. So don’t screw this up.”

He took a sharp breath, nodding in a panicky manner. “I-alright,” he stammered. “Are you sure?”

“I won’t let you die,” she insisted, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t get to die on me, Peter Parker.”

Peter exhaled and closed his eyes, still nodding. “Okay,” he croaked, licking his dry lips. “Because there are so many things I… I haven’t done yet. I haven’t graduated, I haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life, I haven’t become an Avenger yet, I haven’t- I haven’t had anyone tell me they love me yet-”

Peter heard MJ take in a sharp breath, and he felt himself think further into delirium. “And all of that is going to happen.” Her voice was deadly soft, and Peter had never heard her use that tone before. Part of him was glad that he couldn’t see her face right now, but the other part wanted to soak in the beautiful brown of her eyes just one more time. “I promise.”

Peter felt her hand near his face, and chills went down his spine. However, he realized what she was doing when she instructed, “Open your mouth. This is so you can bite down, it’ll help with pain.” Obediently, Peter allowed her to place a washcloth between his teeth. He lightly bit down, just enough to hold it in place. He did not open his eyes, because he knew that if he did, the little bit of courage he had might fail him. “Alright, I am going to count to three. One…”

Without warning, Peter felt her grip on the hilt of the knife and yank it out. His eyes flew open, and Peter bit down so hard on the cloth that his jaw ached. A stabbing ray of pain shot through his body with a pure intensity that he had never felt before. A muffled scream of agony escaped his lips, and luckily the cloth stopped most of it. The rest of it was silenced by MJ’s hand clapped over his mouth. Her own eyes seemed to be glistening as she narrowed them, staring down at him with parted lips. For a moment, Peter’s dazed mind wondered what it would be like to have those lips on his.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered as his scream faded. She lifted her hand from his mouth and began to bring the dark towel to his side. “It would have hurt more if you knew when it was coming, your muscles would have tensed. This is going to hurt, Parker, but I need you to bite down and try to be half as badass as I am.”

Even through the pain wrenching his whole body, Peter let out a quiet, pained laugh. MJ pressed the cloth down further on his wound, and Peter tried to follow his instructions to bite down again. Still, a stifled moan left his lips as the pain increased. Slowly, however, it began to decrease as MJ worked to keep pressure.

“There you go,” she murmured. “It’s going to be alright, Parker. I promise. You can rest now, give your body a break.”

“I’m just gonna…” he mumbled sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Good,” she breathed. “And if you don’t wake up on me, Parker, I’m going to tell everyone that you professed your love for Flash Thompson before you died.”

An amused puff of air escaped his lips as Peter allowed the darkness to close in. His muscles relaxed as Peter exhaled, and he knew MJ was aware that he was drifting into the darkness. He was losing consciousness, but he knew now that it would be okay… He could feel the pain subsiding as he sank into sleep. MJ had studied his healing mechanisms intently, and she knew what she was doing. Peter had tried to pretend that he hadn’t noticed the textbooks on trauma medicine that she had begun to read after finding out Peter was Spider-Man. If she said he would be alright, he would trust her.

Before Peter could lose consciousness entirely, however, his ears picked up on MJ’s soft, breathless voice above his head. The ends of a few curls brushed his face, and Peter could feel her warm breath against his forehead as soft lips pressed lightly against his skin.

As he drifted away, Peter allowed MJ’s words, spoken to what she thought was his unconscious form, to carry him along. “And even if you had died on me, Parker, you wouldn’t have died before getting someone to fall in love with you.”


End file.
